Entre Deux
by shikuro
Summary: Series of one-shots about lovers and the ones between them. IchiRuki.
1. Assent (Inoue Orihime)

******FOREWORD: **This series is inspired by songs, and _may_ be quite sad. It started off as a lone one-shot, but developed into something more. Each chapter may be read individually without having to read the others; because that is how I wrote it. Thank you for reading!

**I do not own Bleach, or any of its characters.**

* * *

**I: ASSENT**

_Ichigo fills up the empty space between him and his love. And it hurts. _

* * *

He apologises.

I smile and shake my head to say apologies are not necessary—_I understand and it's okay_; but I can feel the tears already brimming in my eyes, threatening to fall at any moment. My body starts shaking with trapped emotions.

The truth is, it's been a long time since apologies have meant anything, and we both know it. I try to and I want to, but I really do not understand. How can he still be so hung up, after all this time?

At first, I thought I could make it go away. And then, I thought time could heal it. But neither I nor time have been able to influence a thing. I have come to acknowledge it is a part of him I will never grasp; a part of him that will always confuse me, and at that, the biggest part of him.

It is a part of him that will never be mine.

_And it hurts_.

We are celebrating our five-year anniversary in a couple of weeks, and it still hurts like it did the first time. I never get used to the pain. It still catches me by surprise. I guess I am always secretly hoping that every time it happens is the last. But I should know there will be no end to it. Things like that never die.

It's not that I haven't tried hard enough to break through. It's not that he won't let me in. It's that it hurts too much for him, and for me, to fully explore.

After all this time, it's still raw.

After all this time, it's still alive.

I never blame him for it. I could not, ever. I have known from the beginning, and it would be unfair of me to hold it against him now. It does not matter that I only get to hold a small part of him. Rancour is not in my blood. I still give him my all—nothing less and always more. What else would I give, when he is the only one for me?

I love him—I will never doubt that fact.

He loves her—I will never forget that fact.

They say your first love is never forgotten. They say your real love dims out your first love. But what if your first love was your real love? What happens when they leave? And what happens after that?

I am the by-product of what happens.

I am made up of hurt and hopeless hope that the pain will one day stop. I am pathetic and ashamed, but I cannot let go. I am willing to act as though I do not know why he looks into my eyes, and sees nothing. I am willing to pretend I do not know that when I hold him close, he feels nothing.

But I _do_ know. I may not know all about it, but I know enough to drive my famished heart to agony. He tries to protect me from it, but he does not know there exists no shield from that. When the one you love loves someone else, there is no anaesthetic strong enough to numb the pain.

_It's something I cannot reject_.

I found it a long time ago when I was looking for my lost hair clip in his bedroom. I told myself I would stop checking to see if it is still there, but I do, every single time I can; and every single time, I die a little_._

He does not know I know about it; the box, neatly tucked underneath his bed. He does not know I go through it with trembling hands, whenever he is not around. He does not know how much I cry when I take out the pictures, the Chappy soul dispenser, the notes scribbled in her handwriting, the sketchbooks... He does not know I know he kept all those things that belonged to her; all those things that mean more to him than I ever will.

I don't know why I keep doing this to myself.

I'm a silly woman.

I have given him two decades of my love and five years of my life. He still has not asked me to move in with him even though I spend a lot of time at his place. I have no key to his home; no key to his heart. No allocated room in his closet; no lasting space in his life.

I am always just a temporary visitor.

I know what's holding him back. He still hopes she will come back. He is still waiting for her; still looking for a way to find her and be with her. Being with me forever never crossed his mind. His future has always been with her. It's always been her for him.

I know how it was between them. I witnessed it. He never does for me the things he did for her. He never looks at me the way he looked at her. He never teases me the way he teased her—mocked her even. Her name and my name come out of differently from his mouth. Our conversations do not flow in the same direction and never drift the same way. The energy, the aura, the tensions, the affinity, the feelings... Everything was different.

It felt right between the two of them... Even to me, desperately in love with him, seeing them together just felt _right_.

He was _happy_ with her. He was _whole_ with her. He belonged with her, and he settled for me. No matter how much I give to him, it is never enough to fill up the void she left. She came into his life, and suddenly he was hers. Effortlessly. Naturally. She ironed out the creases of his frowns. She planted sparkles of hope in his downcast eyes.

I envy that. I envy the way she stopped his pain. Not the superficial injuries, but deep down pain that can only be healed by a loving hand. I envy the way she made him happy, and gave him strength. I envy how easy it was for her.

_Why can't I make him whole like she did_?

I feel inadequate, and it just hurts so much sometimes. It hurts more than seeing them together. It hurts more than hearing their conversations and not understanding what they are on about. It hurts more than knowing the intimacy between them, the unspoken bond, and not being able to come close to anything like that, even after five years of "being in a relationship" with him. They never had to say a word to understand each other. _Why is it that no matter how much I say, I can never get through to him_?

I have always loved him, and I know I always will. It's like my soul was made to love him, but it was not made _for _him. It's like I was only made to love him, not to be loved _by_ him. Hence, I was happier seeing him happy with the one he was made to love than I am now. Because even if _I_ hurt, _he_ was happy.

I can't take seeing him sad.

And he is _miserable_.

_But it's something I cannot reverse._

The sparkles she had planted in those eyes have disappeared ever since she went back to Soul Society over a decade ago, and never came back. She said they would never work out. She said it was for the best, and that one day, he would see it too. She said they had to end it then, before it got even more complicated. She said not to look for her. She said to forget about her. She broke him to pieces and left. And although he turned the Earth and heavens upside down and inside out to find her, to get her back, he never saw her again.

It hurt me to see him in so much pain back then.

But what hurts even more is that I cannot stop his pain.

_His heart is something I cannot reconstruct. _I was never given the power to.

It took six years for him to allow anyone else near him. It took six years for him to understand her words. So when he let me pick up the pieces she had left, I did so knowing the shards would make me bleed. And I pieced them back as best as I could, knowing full well I had found too little of the whole to call it my own.

I knew what I was getting myself into. I'm not stupid. And he told me himself, that he could not guarantee he could make me happy. He warned me from the beginning, that he did not know whether he could love me.

It hurt, but I said it did not matter. It hurt, but I said I was fine with it.

Am I, though?

I stand here today in front of the man who has held me in his arms hundreds of times in the last five years... but has he really felt my soul? His hazel eyes have met my own thousands of times... but has he even noticed I'm there? His ears have heard my persistent babbles for hours on end... but has he really been paying attention? He has kissed me and touched me countless times, and the contact has made my senses flare up... so why has he always looked so empty during those moments?

I tell myself it's okay. It's okay to have a part of him. But it just hurts so much that someone else has the rest of him, the best of him.

"Don't cry," he whispers, wiping my tears away with his thumb.

I look up at him, and manage another smile. "No, no, I'm alright, Ichigo-kun!"

"No, you're not," he growls.

He sounds angry. Angry at himself.

Angry that her name slipped out because that is the one that is always on his mind.

Angry that _that_ is who he is all about, when the woman he is holding is not her.

"You're _crying_!" he almost shouts.

"It's just those contact lenses... You know how they always make my eyes burn," I say laughing, hoping it will ease the pain away, but it only encourages more tears to flow from my eyes.

Why does it have to hurt so much? I am with the person I love. He looks after me, and he protects me. I should be happy to have him to hold. So why does it hurt so much?

"I don't want to hurt you," he says, in a softer tone. "You know that."

I become solemn again, and nod.

"You should leave while you still can," he says. "Or you will get more hurt. I cannot keep doing this to you. You deserve better."

I can always leave, I know that. And I also know that if I do, he will let me go. He will not come after me. He will not spend years trying to find me, like he did trying to find her. I have always only been just a temporary visitor in his house... and in his heart. He says I should leave while I still can, but he does not know, I can't—I love him, even if he does not love me.

It's okay if I hurt.

"I am right where I want to be. I don't want to leave. I will never leave you, Ichigo-kun," I say. I wrap my arms around his waist, bury my face in his chest and hold him close to me. _Even if it kills me_. "Never."

It's okay if he uses me to fill up the void.

He wraps his arms around my shoulders, and holds me tight. His scent enfolds me—fresh, clean and spicy.

For a second, it feels like it always should. Like I am his world. Like we belong together. Like he loves me. It's for moments like these, that I stay. For the seconds, or milliseconds, where my heart is pulled back into shape. I feed on those moments; play them back over and over until I forget whether they really happened, or if they were just figments of my imagination.

And then he says, "I'm sorry, Orihime."

The moment ends; my heart falls back to pieces.

I say nothing, and he kisses me. I know what kind of kiss it is. The kind that's apologetic. The kind that says he will drown our sorrows and our unsaid words with carnal passion. The kind that says that even if he can't give me his heart, he will make it worth the stay if that's what I desire.

And he takes off his shirt as he crawls on top of me on his bed.

Where, underneath, he still keeps her pictures, his memories of her and the ring with which he proposed to her over a decade ago.

Where every night, I give myself to him, entirely.

Where every night, he gives himself to her, entirely.


	2. Dissent (Kuchiki Rukia)

**II: DISSENT**

_Rukia cannot get him out of her system. But she pretends._

* * *

He says he loves me.

I give him a small contrite smile to say his words have not gone unheard. But I say nothing back. I wish I could say the same words back to him; show him something, anything close it… but I cannot. He thinks I need more time, but that is not it. Whenever I think about love, it is always you.

You, and your aggravating ways.

You, and your dogged determination.

You, and your need to protect.

You, and your crooked grin.

You, and your furrowed brows.

You, and the way you loved me.

You, and the way I love you.

How much time has gone by since I last saw you? How much time has gone by since we last spoke? I believe I am long past fixated, since I have been counting those days: _four thousand, three hundred and eighty-six_. Exactly twelve years, three days ago; and you are still an unwavering presence in my life—a ghost that never leaves; a memory that haunts me; a dream that ends too soon.

Everything about me, is still about you. My thoughts are all saturated with the shadow of you. I breathe you. I drink you. I stink of you.

Even though I have someone else in my life now… everything about me is all about you.

_There is nothing wrong with him_. He was chosen and approved by the clan—a most noble, most handsome and most appropriate man from the elite for the Kuchiki princess. The blood running through his veins is as thick as it gets. _There is nothing wrong with him_. Out of all the fair maidens picked out for him by his family, he chose me. He thought I was by far the most interesting, and he picked me. Somewhere along the way, he did the worst thing he could have done: he fell in love with me. _There is really absolutely nothing wrong with him_. He is well-spoken and refined. He is understanding. He is kind to me. He listens to me. He respects me. There is _nothing_ wrong with him. And yet, being with him does not feel right.

He is not you… and that makes _everything_ wrong with him.

I hear you in his voice. I smell you in his scent. I taste you in his mouth. I feel you in his embrace. It's all there for comparison. It's all there to remind me that I once felt love. It's all there to remind me I do not have it anymore.

Four thousand, three hundred and eighty-six days have gone by. Weeks, months and years—over a decade worth of change, and yet nothing makes me forget you. Nothing makes me think about you even a tad less. Nothing makes my feelings disappear. They hammer the same pain inside my bones day in, and day out—the pain of the want of you.

I _ache_ for you, every single day.

What an absolute idiot I make. Why do I feel this way when I _chose_ this? _I_ ended it. _I_ left. It should not be that hard for me to move on. It should not take that long for me to accept that we are over. So why do I always wake up nurturing the most minute, futile hope that I will somehow run into you that day? Why do I quietly wish that you will find me one day? That you have been looking for me and waiting since that day to be with me again? It irks me. It angers me. That one stupid person can have such a ridiculously immense control over me.

You are a stupid person.

I told you it was for the best. But what it really was, was for _your_ best. For your chance at leading a somewhat normal life. For your chance at what you deserve. You never needed death as your partner; no one does. It was over before it even began. I was a fool for even letting it go that far. Those feelings so strong, so delicious and so enthralling were all too inhibiting.

I blame you for making me lose my senses.

I blame you for making it feel _right_.

It's your fault; all your fault that I've been fading a little each day we have been apart. Now I miss you… Now I wish I had been selfish and stayed… Now I wish I could go back four thousand, three hundred and eighty-six days into the past, and say what I wanted to say, what I should have said… What I say to you every night in my dreams.

Your face flashes before my eyes as he looks at me nervously.

The room is quietly buzzing with silent excitement as they all wait for what is about to happen. My mind is blank, and I think I stop breathing for a moment. I knew this day was eventually going to come. I prepared for it and I was ready for it. But now that it is here, I cannot think straight. Reason is leaving me. I want to scream and get out of my body, but I cannot move. I need air, but I have forgotten how to inhale.

Amongst the thrill and the delight of the watching guests, dread takes over my body.

Now, I am uneasy.

Now I do not want to be here.

Now all I can think about is you.

Now I find myself back in your apartment, with what happened four thousand, three hundred and eighty-six days ago coming back to me, like flashes of a lighthouse that guide ships at sea to safety. Leading them to the shores. Calling me back to you.

I replay it a million times a day. And all million times I say what I wish I could have said to you. I have said a million yesses every day in my head.

It was a night like every other night. Had I known they were the last moments we were having together, I would have… _No_, we would still have fought. I _really_ did not want to see that stupid movie you wanted to watch. Still do not.

I remember dumping the popcorn into a bowl. Some of them fell on the counter but I did not care. I scowled as you went on and on about how it was your turn to choose because I got to choose where to have dinner, and you bought me new Chappy merchandise. But I was adamant about not watching your alien invasion movie, told you it was heinous to use Chappy as bribe material and that I was going to give it back to you—I was silently planning the well-deserved pummeling that would go with it as well. He who holds affection for me does not mess with (nor take advantage of) my love for Chappy.

And you cursed and said you wanted to watch the movie, and it was "just like me", and that I would have to learn to compromise.

And I said you could watch it alone. That was my compromise.

You called me a spoilt brat, and I believe I tried to throw the bowl at you at some point.

We ended up watching the movie I wanted to watch… and I fell asleep halfway through. I was in your arms, feeling your chest go up and down with every breath you took and exhaled, when I woke up. Just in time for the end credits.

I knew you were going to give me a hard time for that, so gazed up at you and commented on what a great movie it was as perkily as I could. And when you started asking for my opinion about what had happened, I knew that you knew. I suppose it was not rocket science, with the obvious drool stain down your shirt. And so, before you could say anything more, I kissed you.

He reaches up and takes my hand into his. I almost flinch and recoil, but I am too shell-shocked to move. I am trapped inside my own body, a prisoner of my own life, cornered by my own decisions.

He is gentle and nervous as he holds my hand, almost as though he is scared I will break. He rubs the pad of his thumb against the back of my hand in an attempt to soothe me. He knows my heart is racing, trying to come out of my chest. But he does not know it is trying to run away. It wants to go home. It wants to go back to you.

Can I still call you mine, though?

I have not seen you in years, and I wonder how I managed to repress the want to see you for that long. I wonder how I managed to survive without you, when you lie at my core. It was not easy. I used to wake up at night, crying, because I would dream of you, and in those dreams, you would be faceless. I was scared, absolutely terrified, of forgetting the little things about you.

The lines of your grin. The curve of your jaw. The bridge of your nose. The concave at the base of your neck. The tightness of your muscles. The golden flecks in your brown eyes. The way you breathed my name as you came undone. The messiness of your hair in the morning. The hoarseness in your voice when you woke up.

I sometimes wonder who enjoys those little things now. Do I have the right to jealousy when you are no longer mine? Do I have the right to possessiveness over you when I am with someone else?

I always wonder if you are different now. Are you as I remember you to be? Does the person I love still exist? Or have you been changed by time, by life, by circumstances? I wonder, but I have no right to know. I decided not to be a part of it.

I gave away my right to you a long time ago.

He gives me a small smile and starts to say the words I have been dreading. They are mere formality, part of the right way to do things, and I truly have no choice to contemplate. The date has already been decided, and the plans have been set out ever since both clans approved of the other's progeny.

I can see in his eyes, however, that this is more than just a formality to him. He is truly proposing, handing me his heart and his lifetime in those words. He loves me, and I am a monster for thinking of you when I am with him.

He takes a deep breath and says, "Rukia-san, will you marry me?"

My mind takes me four thousand, three hundred and eighty-six days back. Back to that living room with you, and white noise blaring in the background. Back to when our clothes were scattered around us and we lay naked against each other. Back to when you were holding my hand, slipping that ring onto my finger. I hear my voice asking you what that is. And I hear you say, "Marry me, idiot."

The most unromantic proposal in the history of proposals. But it was mine and it was yours, and there is only one thing I would change about it.

My eyes scan the room to meet Nii-sama's. I cannot read his expression, but I am quite certain he knows how I am feeling and what is going on in my head. My voice is stuck in my throat, and I think I have begun to cry. People think they are tears of joy and they coo.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. I know I have to do this. This is what I wanted for you. This is me completely sealing off the possibility of stealing a normal life away from you ever again. When I open my eyes again, I have found my voice.

Like those million times I have changed the past in my mind, I look into his eyes, so kind and so loving, and I imagine your eyes looking back at me so determined and so passionate.

I smile at him, like only you can make me smile.

"Rukia-san?" he says, looking at me expectantly.

I pretend it's you, and I say _yes_.


End file.
